


Knick Knack Paddy Wack Give a Dog a Bone

by dorkysetters



Series: Adventures in Babysitting (and Murder) [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, Slow Burn, babysitting au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkysetters/pseuds/dorkysetters
Summary: Hannibal takes Abigail out of her crib. “I believe she wants you.”“Oh, no no no. I’m fine, thanks” he says, laughing nervously as Hannibal moves to place Abigail in his arms. She babbles at him seriously, frowning.Hannibal stands back to admire his handiwork, taking in the sight of an uncomfortable Will holding a disappointed Abigail.Hannibal smiles approvingly. “A matching pair,” he says. “You two will do well together.”---In which Hannibal has a daughter and Will has a thing for bloody noses.





	Knick Knack Paddy Wack Give a Dog a Bone

There is nothing interesting about the alleyway, yet the dogs-that-aren’t-his practically drag Will Graham inside, toward the metal garbage cans hidden in the shadows near the back. They strain against their collars, expecting the leashes to jerk them back toward the well-lit sidewalk. One of the dogs, Lady, gags, presumably out of habit. Will would have to speak to the owners about walking the dogs correctly- without choking them. 

They lead him to the trash cans, sniffing the clean concrete floor around the cans with urgency. It almost looks like someone’s scrubbed it spotless, unless the concrete is supposed to be naturally shiny. The dogs, boxers, whine and glance up at Will expectantly with the irresistible puppy dog eyes common in their breed. 

“I really shouldn’t encourage you by opening these,” he replies. He shudders at the thought of bringing them back to their owners, his employers, with trash caked in their fur and reeking of garbage. 

A closer look shows that the trash cans are spotless too; someone is obviously cleaning the place up. Will looks around the alley again to see if he missed a blanket or mess of clothes, any sign that a homeless person might have staked their claim here and settled down, but finds nothing. The alley is cleaner than some of the houses he’s lived in before. The dogs whine again, drawing his attention away from the observation before it can upset him. 

Despite the clean cans, there must be something inside of them to interest the dogs so much. Will finds himself interested too, despite himself. “If there’s something dead in there, promise me neither of you will eat it.” Will searches for understanding in their eyes and pretends to find it. “Okay, I’m trusting y’all.”

He takes the lid of one can and pulls it away slowly, and Will imagines he looks like Indiana Jones replacing golden treasure with a bag of sand from that one movie he can barely remember. Will covers his nose instinctively with the sleeve of his jacket as he takes the lid off, expecting the smell of rotting food to overwhelm him. The dogs snarl at the cans, sharp, white teeth barred against a hidden threat because as far as Will can tell, there’s nothing in the open can except black garbage bags. 

“Is there something in there?” Will asks. The dogs snarl again in reply. 

Will leans forward slightly. The dogs take it as permission for them to get closer as well, and they jump up, front paws on the other cans for balance, sniffing and snarling. 

“Hey,” Will chastises. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it on my terms. Down.”

The dogs stare back at Will for a moment, challenging his authority. They hop down a moment later, and Will nods, satisfied with their behavior. 

Will wraps their leashes around his arm and ties them, so he can reach into his pocket and pull of his pocket knife. With his other hand, he grabs a trash bag. He hesitates for a moment; this is someone’s trash, and he’s about to break into it. He takes a deep breath. Surely laws against the destruction of personal property don’t apply to garbage. 

The knife tears into the plastic easily. Will braces himself for something interesting, for mold or slime or something at least a little bloody. Instead, the garbage bag is full of grocery sacks, all tied. Will looks at the dogs. They’re still snarling, but he can see their interest waning. He sighs and grabs a grocery sack, unties the double knot keeping the bag closed. Inside is a Tupperware dish filled with some kind of food. He holds it up for the dogs to see. “Was this worth a trip down a dark alley?”

They bark in reply. Will sighs and tosses the Tupperware back into the garbage can. “Come on. Let's get you guys back home.”

“Can I help you?”

Will turns to face the origin of the question. A boy is standing in the only doorway in the alley, staring at Will blankly. He doesn’t look much older than Will, maybe 18, yet for a moment Will gets the impression that the boy in the doorway expects him to be intimidated by his presence. Perhaps he would if the boy wasn’t wearing a robe and matching slippers. He’s holding a garbage bag which Will assumes is full of matching Tupperware. 

“No, thanks,” Will replies, placing the lid back on the can with a little more than necessary force. “I’m pretty sure I can find the exit.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” 

Will tries not to roll his eyes. He unwraps the leashes still tied to his arm. The dogs strain against the leashes, gagging and snarling at the boy in the doorway. Will hushes them as he takes another look at the boy’s face. He’d be handsome enough, all sharp cheekbones and nice hair, if not for the fact that Will does not like him. A bloody nose and black eye make the boy more likable than Will feels comfortable admitting to himself. As he stares at the wounds on the boy’s face, wondering where they came from, the dogs slip from his grasp and lung towards the boy. 

“Shit!” Will hisses. He lunges forward to stop the dogs from adding to the boy’s list of facial injuries. Instead, the dogs go for the trash bag, ripping it apart ferociously before Will can grab them. Garbage splashes everywhere, splattering the walls- and Will and the boy.

The boy makes no move to shield himself as Will does. He simply looks down at his ruined robe and sighs softly. 

Will inhales sharply; he had planned to wear these clothes to school tomorrow. They were his only clean ones. Correction- Had been. “Ran out of Tupperware?” 

The boy stares at Will, the corners of his lips tilting upwards and his eyes slightly wider than they had been a moment before. Will feels hate start to boil in his veins under the boy’s gaze; the suffocating silence is patronizing. For a moment, the only sounds in the alley are the crunch of teeth chewing through something hard and the occasional snarl as one dog gets too close to the other’s snack. 

The boy wipes his hands on his robe. “I assume it would be a waste of my time to wait for an apology.” 

“It was an accident.” 

The boy turns toward the door as if he’s about to leave, and then turns again as if he’s decided against it. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “Come inside,” he extends a hand toward the door.l 

“What?”

The boy smiles a little, but not at Will. It’s like he’s having a secret conversation with the empty space between them, and Will is the hilarious punchline. “We have some work to do if you’re not going to apologize. 

Will balls his fists, counts to ten as his nails bite into his skin. “Why would I do that? I don’t even know who you are.”

“Hannibal Lecter.” 

“That name means nothing to me.” 

“It will.” 

Will swallows the laugh climbing up his throat. “Look, I’m sorry about your clothes, and your garbage. I’ll come back tomorrow and clean it up.”

Hannibal sighs again, almost inaudibly. He looks down at the dogs, who are sniffing at the concrete. Almost all the edible garbage seems to be gone. He moves aside quickly, out of the doorway. He whistles to the dogs; their eyes lock with his and their ears perk up. Hannibal holds up his fist to the dogs as if something valuable is hidden inside. “Treat?” he asks.

“Hey!” Will yells. The dogs don’t seem to register his voice and instead scramble to Hannibal’s side. Hannibal glances at Will, eyebrows raised, before turning and climbing the stairs. The dogs follow. 

Will curses under his breath and vows never to walk down a dark alley ever again. “Traitors, ” he mumbles. He takes a quick, final glance around the alley before rushing up the stairs after the dogs. 

Will tip-toes his way up the stairs, scowling all the while. Hannibal moved and talked like he had the world in his palm and knew he was the only thing there to keep it spinning. It made Will feel like an angry cat, bristled and ready to hiss. 

A few flights of stairs later Will finds a door ajar. It’s much nicer than the door outside, all dark stain and gold trim around the peephole and doorknob. He pushes the door slowly and peeks inside. The interior of the apartment is bright and open, with tall white walls and large windows. The room itself looks like it belongs on an episode of Fixer Upper, until Will notices the furniture. Everything is dark: black leather couches that take up a majority of a living area, tall richly stained bookcases filled with muted books, multi-colored rugs with muted patterns littered throughout the space. Armoire, desks, and chests line the walls and are decorated with lamps, picture frames, and other antiques. A record player in the corner plays something soft Will doesn’t recognize. Smells drifting towards the door from what Will assumes is the kitchen make Will’s mouth water despite himself. Will finds himself tracing the edge of a wooden desk, admiring the quality. On top of the desk are an antique globe and a few pencil sketches. If he weren’t chasing after a dognapper and possible crazy person, Will feels as though he could spend hours in the apartment, listening to music and studying every antique lining the walls. 

“Nice of you to finally join us.” Hannibal interrupts, walking into the room with the dogs trailing behind him. 

“Jesus.” Will jumps. He brushes his hands on his jacket. Hannibal is looking down at the dogs, who are stumbling over his feet. He holds up a piece of raw meat, and one dog jumps up to try and get to it. 

“No, no. Wait your turn.” Hannibal chastises softly. The dogs sit, wagging their tails impatiently, and Hannibal drops the meat to the floor. “You’re dogs don’t seem to be very well trained.”

“Yeah well, they’re not my dogs, so. Give them back.”

Hannibal shakes his head “I don’t think so.”

Will glances at the raw meat in Hannibal’s hands. “What is that?”

“Dog food,” Hannibal replies. He drops the last of the meat and, looking down at the grime on his hands, turns and walks back into the room he came from. 

Will kneels down, and the dogs run to him. They lick his face as he runs his hands over their fur, checking for injuries. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, searching their eyes for an answer. They lick him again.

“Animal abuse is not a hobby of mine,” Hannibal calls from the other room. His voice is far enough away that he has to speak up for Will to hear him. 

Will glances back at the door; it would be so easy to leave with Hannibal hidden in the other room, but neither of the dogs have their leashes on anymore and Will doubts his abundant knowledge of canine behavior is sufficient enough to get two energetic and unleashed boxers home safely. Sighing, he stands and makes his way towards Hannibal’s voice. 

Will finds himself in a kitchen filled with more white granite than an HGTV magazine. It’s the complete opposite of the other room, with all its gothic furniture. Hannibal looks out of place here, in his dark robe and slippers. He’s cleaned up his bloody nose and his clothes are no longer caked in grime, although there are some dark stains near his stomach. Will is grateful he doesn’t have to stare at garbage anymore, but the loss of the bloody nose is disheartening. 

“What is?” Will asks. Hannibal looks up from where he’s squatted next to some cabinets, pulling out cleaning supplies and setting certain ones aside.

“What is what?” 

“A hobby of yours. Kidnapping random strangers? Serial killing?”

Hannibal stares back at him, face blank. “Do I look like a serial killer?” He asks as if he genuinely wants to know. 

“Not really,” Will replies. He holds his hand up to his eye, touching the spot where Hannibal’s skin becomes a sickly yellow bleeding into inky blue. “Although it looks like you might have met one.”

Hannibal stares at him for an uncomfortable moment. “I fell.” 

They continue having a staring contest. Based on the intense expression on Hannibal’s face, Will wonders if he’s supposed to challenge Hannibal’s claim, begin an investigation. He imagines pointing a gun to Hannibal’s head, screaming at him to tell the truth or face the consequences. He shakes the thought out of his head. 

Hannibal stands up, cradling disinfectant spray, towels, and a trash bag in his arms. 

Will snorts. “Are we going to be disinfecting the concrete?” 

“I’m fairly sure we both tracked garbage up the stairs. I don’t-” Hannibal starts, but is interrupted by a loud cry coming somewhere near the back of the apartment. Will’s head snaps toward the sound. Hannibal sighs. 

“Not a serial killer, huh?” Will shoots a look at Hannibal. 

Hannibal waves his arm toward the sound. “Be my guest.”

With a final questioning glance at Hannibal and another at the dogs, Will marches out of the kitchen, past the lavishly furnished living room, and down a long hallway. He peaks into one room. It’s as darkly furnished as the living room, with plush rugs covering the wood floors and impressive painting lining the walls. A perfectly made bed sits in the middle of the back wall. Other than the decor, there’s nothing interesting about the room. He peaks into a few others, bathrooms, another bedroom, a study, and finds nothing. Will can feel Hannibal at the end of the hallway, watching his progress.

 

Finally, Will reaches the end of the hallway. The crying had stopped almost as soon as he’d started looking through the rooms, but now, ear pressed against the door, Will can hear sniffing inside. He opens the door slowly. It’s a big room, like all the others, painted light gray. Large windows frame the dark city below. Will steps inside and freezes at the sight of a crib in the corner of the room. A crib with a crying baby in it. 

Will stands awkwardly in the doorway, flinching at the evil eye the baby’s giving him. “If looks could kill,” he mumbles. Will spins around to see Hannibal standing behind him. 

“Your sister?” Will asks. 

“Daughter,” Hannibal replies. 

Will scrunches his eyebrows. “Don’t the moms usually get custody of the kids? With teen pregnancy, I mean.”

Hannibal shrugs. “What evidence exists that tells you the mother is no longer in the picture?”

“I don’t know.” Will shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘You don’t seem like the kind of person who would like sharing that kind of responsibility.”

Hannibal looks at Will for a moment. He sets down the cleaning supplies near the door and arranges them for a few seconds before standing back up. The crying’s started up again, so Hannibal strides forward and takes the baby out of her crib. “Abigail, meet…”

“Um. Will. Will Graham.”

“Will Graham.” Hannibal smiles gently. “Say hello to our guest, Abigail.”

Abigail gurgles something Will interprets as a hello and holds her arms out to Will. 

Hannibal shifts Abigail in his arms. “I believe she wants you.” 

“Oh, no no no. I’m fine, thanks” he says, laughing nervously as Abigail is placed in his arms. She babbles at him seriously, frowning.

Hannibal stands back to admire his handiwork, taking in the sight of an uncomfortable Will holding a slightly disappointed Abigail. Will gets the feeling that he’s being judged by Hannibal for the second time in less than an hour. He frowns at the thought. 

Hannibal smiles. “A matching pair,” he says. “You two will do well together.”

With that Hannibal strides out of the room, picking up the cleaning supplies before he goes. Will glances down at Abigail. A snot bubble is poking out of her nose, and Abigail is staring at him like he’s supposed to know what to do with it. Will spins after Hannibal nervously. “Hey… uh.

“Many psychologists consider cleaning a form of therapy,” Hannibal calls back to Will. “Clean home, happy heart, as it were.”

“That’s great,” Will snaps. He bounces Abigail in his arms to relieve some of the nervous energy in his chest. He follows the sound of Hannibal’s voice to the door they’d used to come inside. The dogs follow, sniffing at the new person in Will’s arms. “Look, I really gotta go-“

“I’d appreciate the company, “Hannibal says as he opens the door. “As part of the reason there’s garbage all over my alley, I hold you responsible for my mental state while I’m cleaning it.”

“So… you’re not making me clean up?”

“I find it far more interesting to watch you struggling to hold Abigail. Did you not have any siblings, growing up?

“No,” Will takes the steps down towards the alley slowly, one step at a time. Abigail sighs and pulls at his nose. “I have a few cousins, but I lost interest in holding them after I dropped George.”

Hannibal looks up at him from the floor below. Will swears he’s smiling. “How unfortunate for little George.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Hannibal’s smile disappears. “No.”

They make their way down the rest of the stairs, Hannibal waiting for Will at the bottom, holding the door open for him. Will makes himself as comfortable as possible on the concrete floor of the alley, back leaned against the brick building. Abigail falls asleep there, in his lap, to the sound of the two boys talking as Hannibal cleans up the results of their earlier meeting. 

The stars the only witnesses to their conversation, they talk about whatever comes to their minds. Will learns that Hannibal finished school early in Lithuania, and came to America to attend university in the fall. He met Abigail’s mother back home, and brought Abigail with him to Massachusetts after her mother could no longer take care of her. He learns that Hannibal hates the colors of the walls in the apartment, and would burn down the kitchen if he didn’t love cooking so much. In return, Will tells Hannibal about his dad’s new job, about how often they’ve moved, and the dog walking business he started. About his love for dogs and about his family back in Georgia. Hannibal compliments his southern accent and Will has to suppress a laugh, so as not to ruin the effect when he rolls his eyes dramatically. Hannibal finishes cleaning before either of them are ready to stop talking, so Hannibal takes a seat next to Will and they continue. Talking, talking, talking. 

An hour later, Hannibal glances at his watch. “Any later and your owners will post ransom.”

“Oh, shit,” Will replies, looking at his watch too. Despite the time, Will makes no move to get up. “They don’t deserve those dogs anyway.”

“Abusive?”

“No, just stupid. They don’t know anything about dogs.”

Abigail makes a small sound in her sleep and snuggles further into Will’s shirt. He wraps his arms tighter around her. 

“I should probably take them back, Will breathes softly. 

Hannibal leans forward to pick something Will can’t see off of Abigail’s shirt. The spot where there arms brush is warm for longer than Will thinks it should be. 

“You could leave them here. No one would know.

“No,” Will sighs. He stands up slowly, as not to wake Abigail. Hannibal stands up, too. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you like that.”

They stare at each other for a moment. 

“And, you know,” Will adds. “Dognapping.” 

Hannibal looks like he has something to say, but doesn’t. Will shifts to give Abigail back to Hannibal and sighs in relief when she doesn’t wake up. They go back inside, together, to lay Abigail down in her crib and cover her in a blanket. Hannibal takes the leashes out of linen closet and gives them to Will. A moment later Will is ready to go. He lingers in the doorway, searching for an excuse to come back. He never had time to look at those antiques, after all. “Hey, uh,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re ever in need of a babysitter, hit me up, okay?”

Hannibal smiles fondly. “Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> No dogs were harmed in the making of this fic. Please do not give your dogs garbage, no matter have many knick knacks or paddy wacks are involved. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @magicktaako! Thanks for reading!


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